


Smoke Screen

by Skalidra



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alpha Dick Grayson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Breeding, Intersex, Intersex Omegas, M/M, Master/Slave, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Jason Todd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:54:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22031380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: Slade's used to being sold, in one way or another. He was a mercenary long before he was a slave, and being a gladiator isn't so different when it comes down to it. Fights, sex, less coin than he's used to, but his needs are taken care of. Every once in awhile, there's a truly pleasant job that comes along, too. A soon to be in heat omega, tall and unusual, with an equally attractive alpha master? That, he would have done for free.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd/Slade Wilson, Jason Todd/Slade Wilson
Comments: 105
Kudos: 752





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [firefright](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/gifts).



> Welcome everyone! This is a Christmas gift for my lovely friend, Firefright, as part of the exchange that we did. Thank you, as always, for the writing inspiration. Love you, dear.
> 
> This is a faux-Roman, A/B/O AU, with master(-alpha)!Dick, slave(-omega)!Jason, and gladiator(-alpha)!Slade. Porn-with-a-bit-of-plot, really. Enjoy!

'He's dangerous,' they'd warned him. It came right next to words like, 'vicious,' and 'bloodthirsty.' They paint a picture of an animal, more than a man, and Jason knows better than to believe too much of the other slaves' gossip, but it sticks in his head nonetheless. Sticks hard, even though he's seen the man before, while attending his master on trips to observe training and fights.

They're all dangerous looking, the gladiators. Big, muscled, graceful, and lethal in turns, with grins and snarls traded equally amongst themselves, the air reeking with all the powerful, alpha scents even from the seclusion of the overlooking balcony. He's glad he's never been sent among them, because it always feels like they're not more than a hairsbreadth from violence at any given moment. More than once, he's watched scuffles break out between them, always quickly halted by the snap of their trainer's whip and a harsh word, but proving clearly enough that hierarchy for them is nebulous, and prone to change.

However, the one they whisper about stands a head above even the tallest of the others. He's calm, watching but not interfering with the other spats, and Jason's never seen any other challenge him, even in the smallest way. Even the trainer treats him with respect, more like an equal than a servant, as if he stands apart from the pack's order. The slaves that belong to the house are quick to share stories and information, in snatched moments outside of their masters' earshot.

His name's Slade. He's never lost a fight. He has enough to buy his freedom three times over, but he hasn't left. He tore a man's throat out with his teeth, once. He’s descended from more than just mortals. The stark scar over his right eye was from the wife that sold him into slavery. It's hard to know what's truth, and what's exaggeration. Jason thinks he believes it all, in one way or another.

He’s sort of fascinated, but he thinks he hides it well enough. Everyone stares at the gladiators, after all, he’s not different. And with his size, and his obvious differences, more people stare at Slade than the others. Jason's not fixated enough that he's missed where the other masters' eyes linger.

None of it matters. It's an open secret that some of the masters hire out gladiators for more thrilling, 'private,' meetings, but Jason doesn't think Master Richard's likely to do that. He's never mentioned having any interest in other alphas, and he's always seemed more interested in being involved himself, rather than watching a show be put on.

That's what he assumes, anyway.

Then, one night he's suddenly asked, "What do you think of that gladiator? Slade?"

He's half asleep, loose and languid from pleasing his master, and it takes a second to blink his eyes open from where they’d half shuttered. He tilts his head back from where it's pillowed on his master's chest, an arm around his back and fingers stroking idly through his hair. “Hm?” he asks, trying to make sure he heard what he thought he did before he answers.

Dick’s fingers comb a few strands of his hair back to get it out of his eyes, gaze warm but searching. Jason's not sure for what. “The gladiator at the al Ghul house. The big one with blue eyes. What do you think of him?”

He hesitates. “In what way?”

"Any way. Whatever comes to mind."

"Um..." Jason clears his throat, dragging himself a bit further towards being awake. "He's big. Dangerous. The other slaves say he's never lost a fight. They're scared of him."

"Hm. Are you?"

He has to think about it for a minute, turning the idea over in his head. Does Slade scare him? "A little," he finally decides on, "but I don't think there's any real reason to be. They say that he's made more than enough to pay for his freedom, but he doesn't, so he must want to stay. I've never heard any stories of him attacking anyone outside of the arena, and I've never seen him start a fight, or even snap at any of the others. I think he's very dangerous, and very valuable, and he knows that. I think he's… secure."

Dick hums softly, a low vibration that soaks into the side of Jason's head still resting against his chest. "Good. I agree."

Nothing else comes, and Jason endures the silence for a few seconds before the curiosity drives him to ask, "Why, sir?"

His master's fingers stroke down the back of his neck, skirting around the edge of one of his scent glands closely enough that he shivers. "Well, your heat's not far. I thought I might get you some company for it, this time."

Jason blinks. " _Oh._ " He shouldn't ask, and he knows it's one of those things that got him labeled as disobedient by his trainers (or disrespectful, unruly… shutting his mouth wasn't exactly his strong suit), but still the, "Are you going somewhere?" comes out without any input from his brain.

Anybody else would have smacked him, but since he's apparently got the luck of the gods on his side Dick just laughs and shifts underneath him, nudging him far enough off that his master can roll onto his side and face him. Smiling, his unfairly blue eyes warm with it. Jason has no idea how he got lucky enough to get noticed by the one man that doesn't mind his inability to hold his tongue, or his unusual size. Master Richard is much kinder than he has to be, in a lot of ways, and he's… Well, Jason had always been worried about having to fake enjoyment of a master but he's never had to do that here. Dick… stirs things, in him.

"I'll be a little busier than usual, but I'll be here," his master reassures, a hand clasping his upper arm.

A knee presses between his thighs as Dick pulls him closer by that grip, and his breath catches at the firm upwards pressure against his groin. Jason's still wet, and the thigh pressing up against him slides smooth as he shifts, rocks faintly against the pressure sending that slowly gathering heat to his pelvis. Reflexively he squeezes his own thighs down around his master's, his head tilting back a bit in thoughtless offering.

Yeah, he's stirring things right now, for sure.

"Then why bring him?" he manages to ask, though his voice has dipped low and rougher. (Another thing the trainers never liked; he sounds a bit too much like an alpha when he's aroused, or so he's been told.) "You know I can wait."

"I know. But I thought it might be fun to watch, this time. And I thought…" Dick's voice trails off, and Jason pulls his gaze down to watch his master's lower from his throat to his chest, and down. Not all the way, though. Not to the half-hardness of this cock, or the curls surrounding his slit. To his… stomach. There's a hunger there, an intense desire that he can't help but react to as his brain puts together the not remotely subtle hints.

_Oh_. That's… Okay.

His breath catches hard in his throat as that idea hits him, crashing through his chest in a wave of heat and sweeping right down between his legs. Dick's gaze flicks back up. Whatever’s in Jason’s expression, it makes him smile, slow and heated. The fingers on his arm slip down, trailing over his chest and down, till they can spread out and palm the mostly flat muscle of his stomach, from navel to pelvis. He can feel the drag of the fingertips as his muscles contract under the touch, a small shiver forcing its way up his back.

“You can’t have mine,” Dick says, his voice lower now too, just as infected with the heat gathering between them, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t have one at all. If you want that?"

He's… He's definitely thought about it. Every time his heat comes, he thinks about it. Every time he drinks the bitter tea the matrons make him, to make sure that he doesn't catch. A child from his master could never happen — a bastard child would be an embarrassment to any mate in the future, and a threat to any family; he knew that right from the start — but that doesn't stop the part of his mind, and heart, that wants it. The instinct that digs at him to have a mate, make a family, settle in and make himself part of this pack more permanently. He _wants_ a child in a way he never thought he would. Never did, before Dick bought him. Kept him, even when everyone else told him he shouldn't.

But, having one by someone else? Alphas… They're possessive, he knows that firsthand. What if his master wants this now, but when the reality hits, when he has some other alpha's pup in him, he decides he doesn't want it after all? What if it's only the idea that appeals, not the reality? What if this loses him his place?

Jason swallows, feeling the thin circle of gold around his throat more keenly in that moment. "You'd want that?" he asks carefully, edging around the idea. "A child by some other alpha?"

Dick hums quietly, holding his gaze. "Not 'some' alpha; one I choose." The thigh between his legs presses upwards, slides against him and interrupts his worry with another spark of heat. He inhales, and Dick says, "I'd only let the best near you, Jason, and only if you want it. If you don't, then it stays you and me. Promise."

It goes against everything his trainers taught him, having a choice. They pressed, over and over, that his role in life was to do what his master commanded. Whatever it was, whatever he felt, it didn't matter. It still doesn't feel quite right, being told that he can refuse something his master wants. And Dick does _want_ it, clearly. Jason… He's not sure of his own thoughts, but he knows he wants to give what's asked of him. That's enough, isn't it? (But that's a lot to give. His body, a child, nine months of his life devoted to this, and raising it after that.)

He hesitates, feeling the warmth of that palm on his stomach, looking at the heated warmth of the blue eyes. "Can I meet him, first?"

Dick smiles, brilliant and pleased, and it eases all the tension gathering in his muscles. "I can make that happen."

* * *

His heat's a little over two weeks away when they talk. It's down to a week, when he accompanies Dick back to the al Ghul house. He isn't sliding into it yet, not really, but it's there on the edge of his awareness. Not too long, now.

The nerves twist his stomach up into knots, but he tries to keep straight and calm and not show too much of that. By how Dick keeps him close the entire ride over, all but tucked under his arm, he's pretty sure that he's not doing a great job of it. Still, he stands as still as he can manage under the assessing sweep of the al Ghul matriarch, and follows the slave that comes to escort him down to the join between the gladiator stables and the house itself without argument.

The parting press of Dick's lips to his temple helps with that, definitely.

There's a door, steep steps leading down, and then suddenly he's in a small room that turns sharply off from the stairs, blocked from any sight of the house above. Stone floor, not nearly as well kept as the marble they came from, and the room is split in half by heavy, dark bars of metal.

Caught as he is by the man on the other side of those bars, Jason barely registers the other slave leaving him alone.

He's… big. Jason knew he was, but it's different seeing it from level ground, instead of noting it from the balcony. He's been used to, for years, being the tallest person in the room, or at least on par with them. Slade, though, is… Really tall. And it's not just the height but the breadth of him. He's not wearing any kind of covering on his torso, and it leaves the curved, defined muscle of him completely open to look at. Broad shoulders and back, clearly powerful arms, and the leather and cloth wrap at his waist doesn't hang low enough to disguise how big his thighs are, too. There are scars, but the only truly disfiguring one is the healed gash that bisects his right eye, though the blue there is just as sharp as the other. Not Dick's impossible, brilliant hue, but paler and cool. The oddly white hair, hanging medium length and loose around his face, matches the neat trim of his beard.

Jason imagines, suddenly, how vividly blood would stand out against those strands.

It's easy to see, standing only a few paces away, why Slade's as respected and feared as he is. Why even the other gladiators don't want to face him. Why he stands apart from the hierarchy.

"Well, you're unusual, aren't you, boy?" is what breaks the silence, and Slade's voice is low and deep, a smooth rumble of sound that Jason can't help but react to. His shiver draws a smirk, and Slade steps forward to close the last bit of distance between him and the bars. An arm braces against them as Slade eyes him, tilting his head to look through the gaps between.

If it were any other slave, Jason might glare. A master, he would clench his jaw and ignore. Dick, he has the freedom to tease back, when he can bring himself to. His reaction now gets caught in the middle of all three, his arms crossing as he stares back, jaw tight, but still his wariness not enough to stop the, "I'm not the only unusual one," coming out of his mouth.

Slade's mouth curves in a shallow smirk. "True." His gaze lowers, rakes itself along Jason's frame with clear intent. "I hear we might be sharing your heat. Why don't you drop that cloth and show me what I'll be working with, boy?"

Jason swallows. Every breath gives him a hint of Slade's scent in his mouth, not rich and sweet on his tongue like Dick's, but something harsher, smokier. "Why don't _you?_ " he retaliates, refusing to give into the part of him that yes, would very much like to be admired by an alpha like the one standing there. Clearly powerful, and confident.

The smirk grows to a small grin. Slade pushes off the bars and with one simple unraveling tug of a string the wrap is falling off his hips, and Jason might have said it but he was just being contrary and he was not remotely ready to have that dare _met_. He chokes on a sharp inhalation and flinches back, getting a very impressive eyeful before he wrenches his gaze away and spins around. He can _feel_ the blush burning his cheeks, and Slade laughs, low and rumbling and not a thing like Dick's clear, bright ones.

"Shy, boy? I can't be the first alpha you've seen naked. That master of yours is a pretty one; with a face like he has, I can't imagine he's self conscious enough to never let you see him."

"It's _different_ ," Jason argues, covering his face with both hands and trying to will the blush away.

"Sure. I don't own you, to start." Slade's voice lowers, the amused edge fading under something hungry. "Your master sent you down here to see if you wanted me, didn't he? So come on, kid. Turn around. _Look_."

He shouldn't. He should just walk out, tell Dick that the alpha is a bastard and leave it at that. And he is, he _so_ is, but…

He lowers his hands and turns. Slowly. Keeps his gaze high to look at the white hair, the heated eyes, the patch of curling white hair in the center of his chest, trailing down to— to— _Gods_.

“How big does that _get?_ ” Jason asks, because it’s hanging soft but already massive, very noticeably bigger than Dick’s and as far as he recalls any other cock he’s seen firsthand.

Slade makes an amused sound, but doesn’t outright laugh at him which is nice, considering he feels like an idiot for even asking. “Not that much bigger.”

He has no fucking idea whether the twisting in his stomach is nerves, because that _thing_ looks like it’ll hurt even trying to get inside him and he’s not sure he wants to try, or arousal, because _gods_ there’s a part of him that really fucking wants to try. Just imagining that thing pressing into him, filling him so utterly completely, and shit if that’s just the cock how big does the knot swell? How can that possibly—?

“It’ll fit,” Slade says, somehow filling in the very end of his thoughts with perfect timing.

Jason blinks, wrenching his gaze up. “What?”

Slade smirks, leaning forwards to brace his arm on the bars once again. “You’re bigger than most omegas I’ve fucked, boy. I’ve even fucked an alpha or two. I know what I’m doing; it’ll fit. Doesn’t even have to hurt, if you don’t want it to. Just means I take my time with you.”

The still-there flush on his cheeks gets a little hotter. His, “I don’t believe you,” comes out mainly steady, though. Somehow.

The smirk flicks wide enough to bare a hint of teeth for a second, and a deep rumble comes from his chest. Deep enough Jason feels the edges of it in his own. “Guess I’ll have to prove it to you. Now I’ve shown you what you asked for, boy; your turn.”

Jason swallows, his breath coming short. “I don’t remember promising that.”

“You didn’t, but I want it." Another flash of a smirk, the lean against the bars easy and relaxed. “So, kid? What’ll it cost me?”

It shouldn’t cost him anything at all. Jason should just say no, and leave it at that. He’s down here to decide if Slade is an alpha he can stomach having near him during his heat, not for any other reason. Undressing, showing off, is definitely not on the agenda. His master would…

Jason glances back towards the stairs. He can’t see the door from here, but it hasn’t opened. It was noisy, heavy wood; he’d know if anyone came in. They both would.

Dick wanted him to decide if Slade was a decent alpha. Surely… Surely part of that is figuring out if Slade even wants him in return; any alpha will go for an omega in heat, but that’s not the same as real interest. Slade’s an attractive alpha, he’ll admit that, but Jason knows he’s not exactly the ideal of omega beauty. He’s too big, tall, and he puts on muscle too easily to be that. He’s not delicate, or any of that, either. It’s just a blessing that his master happens to like all of that.

He should know, before he lets this man near him, whether there’s any interest there beyond just the fact that he’s an omega. Right?

(It’s an excuse. He _knows_ it’s an excuse, but it’s good enough to make him feel a little less guilty.)

He swallows, and returns his gaze to the ice blue of Slade’s eyes. Maybe he can judge something else, too, if Slade’s going to turn this into some kind of bargain. “Let me scent you,” he demands, keeping his voice as steady as he can manage.

Slade’s eyes heat, but he doesn’t move. “I would have done that for free, kid. Come here.”

Jason hesitates a moment before he moves forward. One step, a second, and then he stops. He’s still out of reach, he’s pretty sure. “You touch me, or grab me, I shut this whole thing down,” he warns, keeping his head high and holding Slade’s gaze.

It doesn’t get him anything but a small smile, head tilting a bit more. “Understood. Hands off.”

Okay. Alright, so now he gets to know whether Slade is an alpha of his word, and whether he has restraint. And, if he does, whether or not the scent is an appealing one to him. Maybe he’s never really had any experience with any alpha beyond Dick during a heat — his trainers were careful to keep in-heat slaves separate from the rest, to make sure they didn’t sell ‘soiled’ goods — but he knows, somewhere in his chest and behind his ribs, that he doesn’t want an alpha near him that he doesn’t like the scent of. Not at all, but especially not during his heat.

The last two steps he takes more slowly, watching Slade’s arms and hands as he closes the last bit of distance and comes right up to the bars. Slade stays still, the only movement the rise and fall of his chest as he watches. Up close, the height difference is even more apparent. Jason’s head has to tilt back to keep Slade’s gaze, and he feels… dwarfed. That’s a new feeling.

He almost flinches when Slade shifts, but all that happens is that the alpha shifts closer to the bars, chin tilting up and to the side to bare his throat in offering. It’s what he asked for, but somehow he still wasn’t expecting it. He stares a second, following the path of a thin scar just below the sharp angle of Slade’s jaw, before he takes a shallow breath and wraps his hands around the bars. The grip helps him balance as he pushes up on his toes, closing the last bit of distance so he can get his nose close enough to Slade’s throat to take a deep, uninhibited breath of his scent.

Dick’s scent has always been rich and sweet, like chocolate or the baked goods he could smell sometimes, from the trainer’s homes. Slade’s is nothing like it.

It’s warm, and harsher on his tongue. Stronger. Like… the smell sitting next to the fire pit, the smoke from the wood, and the ash.

He takes a second breath, fingers flexing on the bars. It’s… It’s different. Very different, but he thinks he likes it. It’s… _powerful_. Fuck.

When his eyes open, Slade is looking straight at him. Chin lowered now, eyes hooded. Slowly, watching him the entire time, Slade leans down and in. Jason nearly whines when Slade’s head dips far enough to be near the stretched-up length of his throat, but he bites it back between his teeth and clings to the bars, inhalation held in his chest as Slade draws in a deep breath of his own. The moment stretches out impossibly long, taut in the air, his chest starting to burn…

Slade exhales with a low rumble, deep enough to make the frozen breath in Jason’s chest jar free in a sharp burst. “Your turn, boy.”

He feels like he’s in a daze, that smoke-smell still heavy in his throat and nose as he drops down and lets go of the bars, lifting both hands to the ties at the back of his neck. His fingers feel fat and clumsy, but he gets the strings apart and the moment he lets go of them the cloth slithers down his frame, only catching briefly at his hips before the weight of it pulls it to the floor at his feet.

He shivers, feeling the rake of Slade’s gaze across his skin even before he lifts his head and sees it.

“Aren’t you nice to look at?” Slade murmurs, close enough Jason feels the breath across his temple. “Your master’s got good taste, boy. An omega with some size, and some spirit…” His teeth show for just a flash, enough to make Jason’s breath catch, as much as the rumble of hunger drags a shudder from him. “I could eat you alive, kid.”

Gods, he wants… Fuck, he…

There’s a whine building in his chest, wanting to break free, ready to tell the alpha that he _needs_ —

Slade gives a second rumble, softer, and steps back from the bars. “Go on, boy,” he says, voice low but steady, “go back to your master. Tell him your answer.”

“I—” Jason blinks, takes in a sharp breath that only clears a tiny bit of the daze fogging his thoughts and reactions. “My answer?”

The grin is small, but it shows teeth again, and Jason stares at them. He can imagine how they’ll feel digging into his skin, the bluntness, and then the sharper dig of the canines. He—

“I’ll see you soon, boy. I’m looking forward to it.”

Slade turns, bending low in one smooth motion to grab the wrap of leather and cloth from the ground as he passes it, striding towards the door at the other end of his small corridor. Even if Jason could think of anything to say, his throat dries right up as his gaze locks on the shifting muscle of Slade’s back, and… lower. Wow.

It isn’t until the door shuts behind him, and Jason’s alone in the room, that his mind starts to clear. Slade’s scent is still heavy in the room, but without him right there, without the weight of his gaze and the low sound of his voice, Jason’s able to take a couple deep breaths and come a bit back to himself.

His hands tremble faintly as he pulls the drape of cloth back up, tying it back behind his neck again with a bit of trouble. He feels hazed, a bit shaken at his reactions, and he’s — he discovers as he shifts — more than a little wet. He hadn’t even realized.

Gods, if that’s his reaction without even being touched…

Which, is interesting, actually. Slade didn’t touch him. He could have; Jason probably would have agreed to anything, with how gone he was over the scent and the closeness. He was aroused, and he would have been willing, and still, Slade kept his word. Not even a brush of fingers. Big and dangerous, absolutely, but honorable.

When he makes it up the stairs, and back out the door, Dick’s right there. Across the room, but the moment the door shuts his master strides across the room, looking him over as he approaches. It’s just them in the anteroom, but Jason can only tear his gaze away for just long enough to confirm that before he has to look back.

He can see the flare of his master’s nostrils as he stops, just a step away. The flicker in his expression of lust and concern both. “Jason,” he says first, sounding a bit relieved. Another pass of Dick’s gaze, lingering for a second at his throat, and then sweeps down each arm. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he manages, but his voice comes out very tellingly rough. “He didn’t— He didn’t touch me.”

Dick studies him for a moment, and then his mouth curves into a grin. He takes that last step to bring them together, a hand lifting to wrap around the back of his neck, thumb pressing hard enough into the side of his throat to make his eyes shutter and his head lower. He breathes out, that grip centering him more than any of his breathing down below managed. The other hand skims up his arm, then over his shoulder and down to press against the bare skin of his back.

“Then you really liked him, hm?” His master pulls his head down to a shoulder, holding him close and whispering, “Tell me, Jay,” into his ear.

Jason leans into his master, and takes a deep breath. “Yes, sir.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Little bit of Slade PoV for you guys this time; enjoy!
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)

Slade's not unfamiliar with being hired out. Even before he was a slave, there were alphas and omegas willing to pay him to share their bed, and if he happened to like the look of them he never saw the harm in taking payment for what he'd do for fun anyways. Omegas looking for a bit of dangerous fun, mainly under the noses of their mates or family. Some alphas, drawn to the thrill of another alpha undeniably more powerful than them; accepted enough, but those wanting to pay him usually were looking for something more discrete.

It's different now, of course. He has less choice in who he's sold to, though the al Ghuls know better than to rent him to any alpha looking to 'dominate' a gladiator to prove their own superiority. Sex is sex, and he doesn't mind fucking people he doesn't personally find attractive, but he's not interested in the reverse. Never has been.

Sometimes it's the slaves they rent him for, an omega put at the mercy of a 'brute' for entertainment at a party, or a private showing. Sometimes it's the masters instead, participating in not-particularly-secret indulgences, be they omegas or alphas. Most alphas find him a bit too intimidating, though. Not all, but most. There are other, smaller gladiators they're more inclined to experiment with, if they lean that way.

Less common, but most enjoyable, are the heats. Most don't have the coin to buy more than a few hours of his time, let alone days; Slade suspects that this occasion is a private deal of some kind, not a straight purchase.

Richard Grayson is, despite the name, the heir of the Wayne family. Slade listens arguably as much or more than he fights, and Talia keeps him well informed as long as he warms her bed, alongside whatever he gleans from rumor and overheard conversations. The Waynes have a lot to offer in trade; more than what the straight benefit of coin is worth. Or, perhaps this once it's a 'favor;' it's an open secret that the alpha mistress of the al Ghul family holds a love for Grayson's father, the Wayne family head. A bit of kindness for the boy could gain her attention from the father, and a few days of Slade's time is, in the end, simply a resource to be used.

He doesn't mind, and he hasn't asked and doesn't care which scenario is truth.

The omega boy that came to see him is apparently Richard's favored slave; he's inclined to believe that, given that he's seen the boy standing behind his master more than once. He's bigger than most omegas, not one of the lounging, petite creatures so many of the favored slaves are. Richard apparently has no shortage of confidence, to keep and openly claim something more unique as his. The comments and rumors can't be kind; any deviation from the world the rich live in tends to be ridiculed, after all.

He rather likes the boy, himself. He's as wary as he should be, but not frightened of him. Challenging, in fact, despite being clearly aware of the fact that Slade is strong enough to snap him in half without effort, and valued enough that there would be little punishment of any real consequence.

Cute, too. Easily embarrassed, for a pleasure slave; and the blush does look good on him. He's fit and lean, tall, only a couple very minor scars that Slade could see in his brief study, with all the rest of his pale skin unblemished, unless you count the smattering of freckles over his shoulders and back a blemish. Trainers might, Slade doesn't. The boy's master clearly doesn't either.

Jason.

Slade rolls the name over his tongue as he reclines inside the carriage, the thick fabric over the windows blocking all sight of him, which he doesn't mind. Whether that's Talia's preference or the Wayne boy's, difficult to say, but he has no issue with his travel being hidden. Likewise, the cuffs at his wrists and ankles are a formality; the links aren't thick enough to hold him if he wanted free, and besides, the chains between cuffs are often a useful tool to strangle with, if needed. If he wanted to escape, neither the guards nor the metal would stop him.

Lucky for them, then, that he doesn’t. No, he’s content for now. Sex more or less whenever he wants it, fights with some level of actual challenge to them, and most of his desires catered to, as long as he doesn’t ask for anything outrageous. The al Ghuls know the only reason he hasn’t bought his freedom is that he’s satisfied as is; it behooves them to keep him that way.

Handing him off to play companion to an in-heat slave is a relatively good way to do that.

The carriage finally rolls to a stop, and when the door opens and one of the guards beckons him out it's a secluded courtyard, already inside the walls of the great Wayne manor. The house guards don't waste any time escorting him inside. It doesn't drip opulence the way some of the manors Slade's been in have, but it's undeniably the home of someone wealthy. Clean, good construction, the delicate architectural decoration at corners and ceiling that don't serve any purpose but to be admired. The al Ghul manor is more ostentatious, actually; this is somewhat surprisingly tasteful for as old and as wealthy as the Wayne family is supposed to be.

He catches the first hints of heat and spice on the air just a moment before the guards stop in front of an archway, the room inside obscured from view by gauzy, layered blue fabric. He inhales, chasing that scent; yes, that room is absolutely the source.

One of the guards, appropriately warily, holds up a key to him. “The Master awaits you inside,” he says; doesn’t flinch when Slade takes the key, but does shrink back a fraction. His hand’s firmly on the hilt of the sword at his waist. He'd never win.

“Understood,” Slade offers. Probably neither of them are too happy with the idea of leaving him alone with their master and his favored, and that feeling is no doubt exacerbated by the traces of heat scent in the air. That fans aggression in almost all alphas, and both of these guards are that. He's an unknown threat; both of them are right to be worried.

When neither guard speaks again, Slade takes the initiative himself and steps through the arch, ducking his head to clear the clinging fabric. Inside is a room that clearly serves as lounge and office all at once. Cushions and rugs arranged for comfort around a low, shallow pool at the center. And then, against the wall, a desk and tables with various scrolls and such scattered over them. Grayson's personal room, clearly, and not only because he's standing in the middle of it, arms crossed and head held high enough it's posturing instead of just posture.

Slade straightens slowly, letting his shoulders pull back and his head lift as he studies the boy in turn. Pretty blue eyes, rich and bold as gems, and it's far from the only thing about him that's pretty. He's certainly not delicate, but Slade would lay odds that more than a few people have mistaken who was which designation between this boy and his slave. If he'd been less fortunate, Grayson could have made a very valuable slave to someone; even as an alpha. He's the sort that would either be kept and doted on, or be bought to be bred to every passable omega slave to pass on his good looks.

Neither are terrible fates, as far as Slade's concerned.

The boy breathes in, and lets his arms fall. "He isn't fully in heat yet; a few more hours."

That about matches the scent in the air, yes.

He glances behind Grayson, to the firmly closed wooden door on the opposite side of the room. A closed door, only traces of the scent, and a protective master and alpha waiting outside? The boy's in there, no doubt. "Do you want me to stay away until he is?" Slade asks, returning his gaze to the boy's master. If he prefers that his slave only welcome another’s touch in the throes of heat, so be it. He wouldn’t be the first.

"No, it's fine." Grayson's voice rises slightly. "But before that, I need to know whether you can follow orders. Jason is mine; I won't have him hurt, and I won't let anyone near him that won't treat him with the care he deserves. Is that understood?”

The boy really cares. Not surprising, but good to know.

Slade dips his head a bit, enough to show his agreement to the terms. When he steps forward, Grayson doesn’t shy. His shoulders tighten some, but he stands his ground, which is more than most alphas do when faced with him. Slade stops only an arm’s length away, taking another look along the length of the boy’s body. Impressive, that he still hasn’t flinched or moved. He certainly has confidence.

Slade has a few suspicions about why he’s here, apart from the obvious. A heat is a good excuse, but he’s noted this boy’s eyes on him more than once. He wouldn’t be surprised if the little alpha master wanted something more than just to watch. He wouldn’t mind that.

“If you can’t,” the boy says, a bit sharper, “you’re free to leave. You can assure Talia that she’ll still get what she was promised.”

Generous of him. Or dissuading any attempt to lie by ensuring no consequences occur. It doesn’t particularly matter which.

“I won’t harm him,” he promises, keeping his voice low. “You’re not my master, boy, but I’ll follow your orders when it comes to what belongs to you. You have my word.”

Grayson’s eyes narrow. “That’s very blunt of you.”

“Would you prefer I lie?”

The boy snorts softly, holding his gaze. “No. Then I don’t command you, except when it comes to Jason, where I expect you to follow my orders, no matter how far into heat he is. Do we have an agreement?”

"We do," Slade agrees. "He's not the first omega I've joined for a heat; it won't be a problem."

"Good." Grayson lowers his gaze, eyeing the chain between his wrists. Probably, anyway, though it does happen to lie directly over his crotch. "Do you have the key for those?"

It's highly tempting to just pull and snap the metal, but perhaps shows of his strength will be better received later on. He lifts his hands instead, twisting the key out of his palm and offering it to the boy. He takes it without any of the caution that the guard did, gripping his wrist with one hand and twisting it to get at the lock without any apparent wariness over touching him. It's interesting, to say the least. Talia touches him freely, but she knows she has nothing to fear from him as long as she doesn't try anything. Maybe this boy is working under the same principle, assuming that as long as he doesn't try anything he shouldn't, Slade wouldn't risk the consequence that would come from harming someone as high profile as him.

Well, he's not wrong, though it has little to do with consequences. He just doesn't see the benefit in harming something pleasing to the eye, unless there's a reason for it. The boy knows where he stands, and he seems confident, not stupid. It's probably unlikely that he'll cross the lines they've discussed.

The cuffs come off easily enough, and then the boy looks down at the chain between his ankles, evidently realizing he'll have to kneel to reach them. There's a moment of pause, where Slade actually wonders if he'll do it, before he presses the key back into one of his palms with a pointed, "I think you can get those yourself."

He doesn't bother to hold back his smirk, but he does lower himself to his knees. Slowly, holding Grayson's gaze until he catches what he was looking for; a thick swallow, and the smallest crack in his facade. Then Slade drops his gaze, leaning back to reach the cuffs at his ankles and undo them with the ease of long practice. He leaves them on the floor, and pushes back to standing to offer the boy the key once again. He doesn't plan to be wearing much of anything during the next few days, so there's no point in him holding on to it; Grayson can store it wherever he wants.

"Alright. Come with me."

Slade's estimate of the boy rises when Grayson doesn't hesitate to turn his back and move towards that wooden door. Very confident, indeed. Attractively so. The ones that aren't afraid of him are always interesting.

He follows. The door opens at a push, evidently unlocked, and Grayson steps inside and leaves it open for him to come through as well, which he does. The room is clearly his personal one, decorated and very comfortably furnished, with a large bed and curtains drawn over what look like rather large windows. He really must care for his slave, to give him run of his own bedroom for his heat, even when he doesn't plan to be the boy's main partner for it. That, or there simply isn't another room prepared, because the boy's always been only Grayson's in any prior heat. Still, that would make him an exceedingly kind master.

Near the center of the room, hovering awkwardly near the center of the rug that covers the main part of empty flooring, is the boy himself. Just as Slade remembers, tall and just muscular enough for the definition to show in his bare arms, and eyeing him as though at any moment he might suddenly lunge. Certainly a greater concern, now that there aren't bars between them.

Grayson goes to him as Slade shuts the door, gripping one arm and leaning in to murmur something too quiet for him to pick up. Whatever it is, Jason breathes in and gives an affirmative nod, leaning into his master for just a moment before straightening. His eyes lift to meet Slade's, spine straightening, shoulders pulling back. Grayson turns to him as well.

"There's a second reason you were brought here," Grayson says. "Talia doesn't know it."

Slade would normally assume the second reason to be that Grayson wants a taste himself, but the posture doesn't match that. No, it's a protective stance, but all aimed towards his slave, none reserved for himself. Well, if it has nothing to do with Grayson, then there are only so many things that a gladiator would be hired to do with an in-heat omega. Given how much he cares for the boy, clearly it's not mating. Which leaves…

"You want me to seed him," he guesses, and knows he's right when the boy's cheeks flush a bright red. But, critically, he doesn't look surprised. In fact, behind the embarrassment, there's very clear desire. The boy's master isn't the only one that wants it.

“Yes.” Grayson squeezes Jason’s arm slightly. “If you agree.”

Interesting. Most masters would sate their desire to see a slave sowed by simply doing it themselves, the offspring doomed to either be sold off to other houses as chattel, or raised as bastards, forever a threat to the true heirs. Much kinder, to have another alpha do so and have no question of parentage, so the omega can raise the child without fear. Satisfy the desire for a child, in both master and slave, without bringing trouble to the house. Intelligent, kind, and surprisingly open-minded of the boy. Slade knows more alphas than not would react poorly to having a favored slave seeded by any other. Sex is one thing, a child quite another.

"She would have charged you quite a bit more if she knew what you wanted," he comments, allowing his lip to curl in a small smirk. "What's your excuse for when he starts to show?"

"An accident," Jason cuts in, head lifting a bit. "They happen."

"Yes, very conveniently." He chuckles, and lets that thought circle a moment. No, he doesn't think he minds. It's no different, functionally, than what he was going to do anyway. The long-term effects of a child aren't his problem. "Very well. I’ll do it, and I won't tell my 'mistress,' as long as you don't."

Grayson takes an audible breath, shoulders easing just a touch. "Alright, then we have a deal. I have a few limits, before things begin."

Slade nods, swinging his gaze from the boy over to his master. "Name them."

"You don't harm him, as we discussed. I'm fully aware that with the passions of a heat, bruises are likely; that's fine. You don't draw blood, though, and you don't do any serious damage." The boy's chin lifts slightly, just enough to be a challenge, without actually threatening. "And as we've already agreed, when it comes to Jason, you follow my commands. Agreed?"

He dips his head. "Agreed. And for him?"

For the first time, Grayson looks just a bit confused. "What do you mean?"

He looks to the boy, holding his gaze as he smirks. "Does he go by the same rules? No blood?"

Something flickers in the boy's gaze, more challenge than his master is showing contained in just his eyes, and there's a shift of weight that Slade's instincts immediately categorize as the potential build up to an attack. He's spent a long time on the sands, and in battle long before he wore a collar; he knows what that kind of shift usually means, though most think better of it before they actually lunge. But then, Jason wouldn't be the first omega to want him to 'prove' himself; they can be as vicious as any other designation when given half a chance, and he's an unfamiliar alpha, intruding on this one's den. Violence is almost to be expected, in anyone with half a spine.

Grayson seems to be chewing that over, so Slade tilts his head towards him, while he keeps his gaze locked on the boy's, and adds, "Your boy wants a fight, too."

Jason blinks, straightening in a sudden rush, breathing in and falling back from the forward shift of posture as if he didn't realize what he was doing. Likely that he didn't; owned by one master probably his entire mature life, why would he have ever had the urge to force an alpha to prove themselves? Well, then this will be a learning experience.

"Jason?" Grayson asks, hand sliding a bit higher on the boy's arm.

He shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. "Sorry, master. I— I don't—”

"He's soon to be in heat, and I'm an unknown alpha," Slade fills in. "It won't be anything serious; just a small tussle, and he'll give."

Grayson looks between them. "And you'll hold to my rules during it?"

Slade pulls his gaze to the master. "Yes. I'm capable of proving myself without leaving any more than a bruise or two."

Grayson turns to his slave, free hand lifting to wrap around the back of his head and pull him down so the boy can speak into his ear. Slade can't hear what it is, but Jason nods and then ducks his head to his master's shoulder, lightly nuzzling the side of his neck. Grayson's eyes shut for just a moment as he returns the gesture, then pulls back and turns to him.

"You can choose your own boundaries. Blood, injuries, whatever it is you don't want. Name them."

He smirks. "I don't mind blood. And as to injuries, well, you're welcome to try, boy." Unless he's vastly misjudged Grayson's tastes, Jason's unlikely to be some sort of hidden assassin, and the worst he might manage is a few bruises or scratches. A bite, maybe. He's never minded that before; he won't now.

The flush was just fading, but it comes back full force at that. It also comes with a very brief flash of teeth that the boy's master misses, though it would be hard to miss the narrowing of his eyes. Or, obvious in the air and making Grayson's eyes flutter for a moment when he breathes in, the sharp increase in scent from the boy. Grayson shakes his head, hand twitching up as if to cover his face before it falls again, and he takes a deliberate step back.

"I haven't—” The boy clears his throat, starts again. "We wanted to be sure of the result, so I haven't taken him in nearly two weeks. And I won't, for the heat. Not in that way, at least."

Restraint, on top of everything else. The boy continues to impress. Good information to have, too. He assumed that he'd need to spend some time relaxing the boy, but if he hasn't had anything in him beyond fingers for the last two weeks, it'll be especially necessary. No matter; he's coaxed all kinds of omegas to take him, this won't be different. Interesting to know that the boy's master does plan on joining them, though, despite not wanting to interfere with the attempt at seeding his boy. Though it's true that there are plenty of other ways to take pleasure from an omega.

"Understood." He takes his eyes off the boy for just a moment, to look to Grayson. "Do you want me to stop you, if you forget that?"

That seems to catch him by surprise. But after a moment Grayson laughs, and shakes his head a bit. "Yes." He sounds amused, but his gaze is steady, when it lifts. "I expect you to hold to the same rules for me, as well. As long as you do, there won't be any repercussions; you have my word."

Of course. No hurting the Wayne heir.

"I'll keep it in mind."

Grayson takes a last look at the boy, wholly focused on what he's deemed the threat in his environment, and then breathes out and moves away. Slade spares enough attention to track him to a chair near the side of the bed, then he returns Jason's wholehearted focus. Win first, play to the audience afterwards.

He steps forward, closing a bit more of the distance between them. The boy's teeth flash again. "What about you, boy? Your master picked me to sire a child on you. What did you think of that?"

The boy shifts, fingers flexing at his sides. "I think…” Slade takes another step, and instead of words the boy growls, deeper than most he's heard in his life, even from alphas. A snarl follows, warning and challenge both.

"You want to try me, boy?" he asks, lower. "Then try."

For a moment, there's only the tension in the air. The familiar second where his opponent makes the decision to move, where intention solidifies into action. And then they _strike_.

A fist flies for his throat — not face or chest; good — and he deflects it with a push to the kid's wrist as he steps to the side. There are ribs there, an ear, the sensitive point just below the armpit; all highly damaging targets left open by the swing. He closes his hand on the boy's wrist and plants his other one at the back of his shoulder, pulling one and pushing the other as he brings the kid around and towards the ground in a sharp curve. The boy hits his knees and tries to pull back, but it's too late and Slade has all the leverage he needs. He's always appreciated how eager the body is to avoid injuring itself, no matter the intentions of the owner.

Slade follows him down as he hits the rug face-first, swinging a leg over the kid's hips to settle there. He keeps the hand at the boy's shoulder just long enough to bring the captured wrist to the small of his back. It won't hurt, but the boy's just a pleasure slave, he won't know how to break even the simplest of pins. Besides, given a few more seconds, he won't want to.

The boy snarls over his shoulder as Slade leans over him, quickly capturing the other hand before it can claw at him and pressing it into the rug. He shifts off his knees, layers his weight over the boy's back and bears him down into the softness of the rug. His hips happen to line up nicely with the boy's ass; that doesn't happen with most of his partners.

Jason squirms underneath him, panting, tugging against the grips on his wrists.

"Easy, boy," he murmurs, and gets an almost immediate snarl for it. Weaker than the last one, though. He lowers his head to the back of the boy's neck, exhaling over it — the boy shudders — and then tilting his head to inhale directly over the scent gland just behind and beneath the boy's ear.

The overwhelming richness of heat is the first thing to swamp his senses, but under that is the boy's actual scent; spice and fresh-cut wood, woven into each other. Slade rumbles his approval, nosing at the back of the boy's ear and breathing out again, slower and more deliberately against the sensitive skin. A second shudder, and a quiet, choked-off whine is his reward. Almost.

"Relax, boy," he says, keeping his voice low and steady. Just between them. "You're safe; I have you. I'm not going to hurt you." He deepens his tone, adds just a hint of a growl, and demands, "Now _give_."

The boy draws tense beneath him, pressing back against his grips, against the weight over him. It's the same moment of anticipation, the second of decision, one way or another.

And then it snaps.

Jason eases all at once, arching up against him, head pressing to the rug and baring a little more of his neck. And he whines, longer and loud, a plea Slade's happy to answer.

He lets go of the boy's wrists, mouthing lightly at the throat offered to him and giving another approving rumble. "Good boy. That's it."

Slade pulls back, rising up on his knees and pulling the boy with him, back to his chest. The boy's head falls back against his shoulder, hands grasping at his arm. Beyond the heat, beyond his scent, the distinctive smell of slick rises to Slade's nose. He inhales it greedily, slides his other hand down and hikes up the thin cloth till he can slide his fingers down and touch that warmth and wetness himself. Yes, that's it.

From the corner of his eye, he catches sight of Grayson leaning forward in the chair. He hides his smirk in the back of the boy's neck.

The battle's won. _Now_ , he plays to the crowd.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, everyone! Finally coming back in with the third (final) chapter of this. Have fun, enjoy! (And a special blown kiss to my dear, Firefright, who this fic was originally for. Thank you, dear!)

Dick admits, when Slade had first shed what passed for his clothing, he'd been concerned. It's a truly impressively large cock, presumably has a proportionately sized knot to go with it, and heat may make an omega much easier to relax than usual, but still, that's a lot to take. He'd actually thought Jason was exaggerating when he talked about how big it was, after they first met to gauge interest. Apparently not.

He's been ready to call a stop to things, force the gladiator away and make sure Jason wasn't hurt, if he needed to, but Slade doesn't make any move to sink into him. No, there are fingers — those are big too — and then his mouth, for… way longer than Dick expects, honestly. Long enough to get Jason off and then send him high again, panting and flushed, thighs pressing tight around Slade's shoulders and hands clutching at the back of his head. He wasn't expecting that kind of restraint from a gladiator with Slade's kind of reputation for ruthlessness, but maybe he should have. He's not fully versed in how to fight, himself, but he knows that to be truly great at it requires patience and strategy. Maybe that translates to his dealings in business and pleasure as well.

After all, when they first discussed it Jason had said that he thought Slade seemed settled, and aware of his own worth, but not dangerous to anyone he wasn't set against. He hadn't seemed frightened at the idea of being with him, just a bit nervous.

Considering the sheer _size_ of him, Dick understands the nervousness. And of course, there's the fact that Jason's never been with any alpha but him; the champion of the arena, an alpha probably strong enough to fling him over a shoulder with ease, isn't the easiest second step to take. It would make anyone nervous to be at the mercy of that much strength.

(He's been impressively gentle, actually. Even his pin hadn't left more than a faint redness around one of Jason's wrists, and that's completely faded, now. Dick expected worse. Gladiators don’t tend to be known for their soft touch.)

But now, watching Slade roll onto his back on the rug and pull Jason on top of him, Dick finds that he’s not really worried anymore. He’s… anticipatory. He really wants to see Jason take that, see him overwhelmed. Then he wants to go to him himself.

"Easy, boy," Slade says, his voice a low, aroused rumble that makes Dick's breath catch a little. Those big hands close over Jason's hips and pull him up into a high kneel, legs spread wide over his, knees in the rug. "Slowly."

Jason's skin is damp with sweat, hair blackened with it. His head's tilted down, thighs trembling slightly as he braces both hands on the swell of Slade's pectorals and begins to shift downwards. Dick can't make up his mind on where to focus. His gaze skips between Jason's expression, the clasp of Slade's hands on his hips, controlling the descent, and between his legs, where the head of that thick cock presses, and presses, and _slides_.

Jason whines, and Dick's gaze snaps to his face on automatic but there's no pain there. Strain, and his teeth catch on his lower lip as he sinks a little further, but it's not pain.

Dick finds himself almost holding his breath as he sinks lower, bit by bit. Taking breaths when Slade rocks Jason upwards an inch, then pulls him back down. It seems impossible, but there's more, and more, and then Jason's settling down against Slade's hips, gasping, nails digging into his chest. Trembling, almost.

One of Slade's hands lifts and cups the back of Jason's head, pulling him down a bit further. "That's it," Dick hears him say, low. "You've got it, boy. Look at you."

Jason shudders, thighs bunching as he shifts and tenses, and then eases again.

Slade's mouth curves in a grin. "Your master's certainly looking."

Jason's head tilts to look at him, breath audibly catching, and when their gazes meet he whines, long and drawn out, a plea that Dick can't even begin to resist. He's out of the chair and heading towards them before he even realizes it. It's only when he does that he pauses, considering the wisdom of approaching an alpha like Slade in the middle of sex, with the scent of heat in the air. He's confident that Slade won't risk harming him, but he's not an idiot. There's a difference between trusting the restraint of a dangerous man, and the restraint of a possessive alpha. Dick's not positive that he himself could refrain from snapping at anyone that came near him and Jason during a heat, and he's not sure he trusts Slade to, either, regardless of what he's promised.

Jason whines again, softer and more pleading, and Slade chuckles. "Boy wants you, Grayson."

It sounds like permission. At least, as much as Slade has any right to offer him. A reassurance, more like.

Dick glances down to gauge Slade's expression — slight strain and amusement — before he takes the last few steps. Jason leans into his touch the moment he gives it, head tilting into the brush of his fingers, pressing against his hip. He can feel the faint tremble of muscle when he lets his fingers slip down to the back of Jason's neck, lightly squeezing at it to encourage him to relax. It can't be easy having something so large in him, even with his heat nearly on him; anything he can try to make it easier, he'll gladly do.

With another glance at Slade — still, no visible aggression — he sinks down to his knees, running his fingers through Jason's hair.

"You alright?" he asks, trying to keep his mind on what's been planned, and not how deep into his lungs every breath takes Jason's scent.

Jason leans into him, head pressing to his shoulder. His voice is rough and deep when he says, “Yeah.” Deeper than his own gets even at the nastiest of times; the trainers he bought Jason from had called it a defect.

Dick actually likes how that deepness feels against his skin.

“You look beautiful,” he praises, murmuring it against Jason’s hair. He feels the hitch of breath, his omega still so vulnerable to compliments after so much of being told he was wrong in one way or another through the early years. “How does it feel, Jay?”

There’s a hot exhalation against his shoulder, a slight shiver and flex that pulls a grunt from Slade, beneath them. Dick looks down at him, over the top of Jason’s head. His hands are resting at Jason’s hips, thumbs stroking small, unhurried circles into the divots of them. His eyes are trained upwards, though, watching the both of them with a surprisingly alert gaze for an alpha in his position. Inside an in-heat omega? It would probably be all Dick could do to restrain himself enough not to move, let alone watch that intently.

“Full,” Jason answers, pulling his attention back. “ _Fuck_ , it’s a lot.” His pitch rises as he whines softly, following it with a, “ _Sir_ ,” that makes Dick have to close his eyes and take a carefully slow breath in to keep his head.

“It is,” he agrees. "Take whatever time you need, alright? Don't rush."

He feels the nod against his shoulder, then a slower exhalation, catching slightly but not terribly. He strokes his fingers through Jason’s hair, keeping slow and steady to encourage the same from him as he tries not to breathe in too deeply. This close, the scents of both of them are one overpowering miasma, sinking into his lungs and fogging his mind. He _wants_ , deeply, but reason holds him back, keeps his touch gentle and his desire in check.

This was planned. Jason and him agreed to this, as more than simply master and slave. He just has to keep his head. _He_ brought this alpha here; he was invited.

And what an alpha.

Dick breathes in, slowly, to keep himself from reacting too strongly to that thought.

He didn’t lie to Jason, he would never, but Slade being the very best of breeding stock — not only raw strength and power, but control over both those, and apparent intelligence — is far from the only reason that he chose him. He’s… watched Slade, before. At the stables, and in a few fights. He’s an impressive sight. A _very_ impressive sight.

It isn’t the first time Dick’s been interested in another alpha, but a discrete encounter or two with a friend isn’t the same sort of thing. He’s certainly not going to suggest anything to an alpha of Slade’s skill and potential threat, not to mention loyalty. He clearly isn’t fully loyal to his mistress, but that doesn’t mean that he won’t tell her anything that occurs if it benefits him. The other option, of course, is much worse. Offended, Slade could do quite a bit of damage. He doesn’t want to risk Jason’s wellbeing, even though he’s relatively certain Slade wouldn’t risk harming _him_ , at least. Jason is not an acceptable sacrifice to satisfy his own desires.

(Dick wouldn’t be the first to have dalliances with other alphas, even publicly, but his choice of Jason as a slave has already spread rumors about him. Bruce, at least, would prefer he not reinforce those rumors.)

He opens his eyes, gaze skimming over the top of Jason’s head, down to Slade. Who is… watching him. He holds the cool blue gaze; a sharper, lighter shade than his own, and _intent_ in a way that he wants to read too much into.

In his peripheral vision, he can see Slade’s closer hand slip off of Jason’s hip. It lifts, shifts over, and his breath catches hard as it skims over the top of his thigh. Slade’s mouth slants into a smirk just as sharp as his eyes.

Maybe he’s not reading too much into it.

There’s not a word spoken, but the hand shifts down and finds the edge of his toga where his knees are just barely on top of it, holding it down. Slade’s gaze doesn’t leave his as he tugs, deliberate and with just enough force to pull the fabric free. Dick swallows, and has to fight back a shiver as the hand slips underneath, fingertips trailing up the inside of his thigh, shifting higher until the breadth of his hand is too wide to fit in the narrow gap between. There’s a moment of pause, Slade’s eyes trained on his, and then a very precise push of knuckles into his skin, pressing as if to force his thighs apart.

One of Slade’s eyebrows arches.

Dick has no idea whether it’s a question or a demand, but either way, on a slightly harder press of knuckles his knees slide a little further apart. Far enough that with a wicked flash of teeth, Slade’s hand can slide up and trail fingers along far more sensitive flesh. He sucks in a sharp breath, eyelids flickering down as the touch firms.

He’s hard, of course. He’s been hard for a long time, since Jason submitted and Slade’s hands and mouth began to wander, but he hadn’t wanted to distract so he’d kept himself still. He thought once it was done, he'd at least have plenty of time to touch himself, even if Jason might be too worn out to help. It wasn't the easiest to deny himself, but it came with the promise of satisfaction, later.

Kneeling here, his nose all but buried in Jason's hair, sex and their scents heavy in his nose, certainly hasn't done anything to make him any softer. Slade's hand is pretty much doing the opposite, in fact. Bigger and rougher than his own feels, firm in how it grasps him, and clearly practiced. And when his eyes flutter open, Slade's still watching him, a blatant hunger in his eyes that brings a shiver that this time Dick doesn't fully manage to suppress.

It feels like a trance, Slade's gaze and touch keeping him spellbound and strung tight, waiting for the next move.

It takes a second to realize the sharp, startled inhalation isn't his own.

His gaze jerks to the side, to where Jason's eyes are wide, head ducked and looking towards the abnormally shaped bump that Slade's knuckles make under the fabric. There's a flush to his cheeks, mouth just a little open from the gasp.

Oh no.

Before Dick can do more than stiffen, Slade's hand squeezes and _strokes_ , firm enough to yank a startled moan from him and forestall any attempt at defending himself. From beside him, echoing just a moment afterwards, Jason gives a breathy grunt and jerks a bit, a hot rush of air fanning out across his shoulder as Jason whines, softly.

Slade chuckles, a second stroke taking the breath from him again. "Look at that…” His voice is a low, dark rumble that Dick only barely stops himself from shivering at. "Two pretty boys, all wrapped around my fingers."

Dick feels his cheeks flush, his fingers tightening slightly in Jason's hair as he swallows thickly. His other hand drops, grabbing at the part of Slade's arm just before where the rest is under his clothing. It's thick, hard muscle under his fingers, tendon flexing as the hand wrapped around him continues to stroke, firm and slow. Maybe he meant to push Slade away, but his fingers just end up loosely grasping, squeezing down when Slade's hand dips to gently roll his balls. A thumb presses firmly into the base of his cock, sparks zinging back behind his pelvis as it massages at the slight bump of his knot.

Not even the groan against his neck manages to fully pull his attention back, but he does pry his eyes open from where they'd fallen mostly shut, twisting to look down at Jason. Flushed as much as he must be, eyes squeezed shut and nearly panting, and gods the _scent_ when Dick manages a slightly deeper breath. He can't help how his lips pull back for a moment, teeth baring in pure instinctual reaction to the _needomegaheatwant_ that punches right into his lungs.

Slade makes a sound that's not quite a growl. Low and brief, and Dick notices finally that Slade's other hand is wrapped around Jason's cock as well, pulling in the same slow, steady pattern as around his own. It sends another sharp swell of heat through him. He almost groans out loud, when Slade's hips flex upwards.

Jason does. It sounds a lot like his name.

The hand comes off of him with one final squeeze, and trails over his thigh as it pulls back. Dick groans just a little at the loss, the touch of the toga brushing over him almost too much as it falls back down.

Slade laughs again. Grins up at him with a feral flash of teeth.

Dick pulls back automatically as Slade pushes up in a sudden rush and wraps an arm around Jason's back, holding him close and rolling them both in one smooth burst of motion to press him down into the rug under him. Dick swallows thickly as Jason grabs at Slade's shoulders, thighs pressed wide open around the bulk of his hips. Slade... It's different, to see Jason actually dwarfed by someone.

Slade turns his head, one arm braced on the ground, but the other, closer one lowering to hook under Jason's knee and pull his leg higher up his waist.

Dick's breath hitches at the view he gets, gaze caught there for a moment before he yanks it up to where Slade's looking at him, eyes narrowed in sharp intensity. There's a flick of his eyes down to his crotch, where the fabric's standing up a bit, and he smirks as he looks back up.

"Don't worry, boy. I'll get back to you."

His cheeks burn, but it doesn't do anything to detract from the heat burning elsewhere. Heat that only gets worse as Slade turns his attention to Jason and begins to move, thrusting with slow, powerful rolls of his hips, mouth lowering to his neck and shoulder.

Yes. Yes, he's very sure that Slade will.

* * *

Dick hates every moment that he has to spend away from his rooms. The tedium of work is something that he usually doesn't mind that much — he enjoys, actually, the satisfaction of solving problems — but knowing that Jason is in heat, waiting there for him, makes it difficult to concentrate on anything. Knowing that Slade is keeping him company is less a reassurance and more of an additional temptation.

'Temptation' might be underselling Slade's effect, actually.

He's an intoxicant, is what he is. The kind that Dick never takes, because he doesn't like having his control wrested away from him by substances like that. Giving it away, on the other hand, is apparently an entirely different thing; he's found he enjoys that. Immensely. He's never played with any alpha as unquestionably dominant as Slade, and it's thrilling as much as it's nerve-wracking to know that the only thing leashing all that skill and power is Slade's own self control. Never more apparent than when Dick can't quite hold onto his own control, and Slade is the only thing holding him to the promises he made at the start of all this.

(Slade bites him exactly once, high on the left side of his rib cage where it twinges every time he breathes in, not deep enough to bleed but enough to leave a lasting, sore mark.)

The days pass in distracted monotony, and the nights in hazes of scent, touch, and pleasure. It's a torture to drag himself from the bed every morning, Jason often just starting to really wake, and a relief like no other to come back and fall back into all of it.

He loses track of the days somehow.

Stepping into his rooms to find everything still, the scents in the air faded hints instead of the wave that's greeted him previously. Dick lets his gaze come to the bed, to the two figures there, wrapped up together. He's not surprised, now, to find Slade already looking at him, eyes half-lidded and completely unthreatened by his entrance. Jason is pulled up against his chest, back to the door and his head buried down near Slade's shoulder, one heavy arm draped around his back, fingers stroking a gentle, steady line along his spine.

Dick inhales a little deeper as he shuts the door. There's still heat scent there, sweat and sex, but nothing fresh, and someone's clearly taken the effort to air the room out. He doesn't... smell any other scents.

"It's done," Slade says, voice no more than a whisper, if whispers could have that much of a rumble to them.

Jason doesn't stir. No, he won't. Jason sleeps very heavily post-heat, as long as someone's with him.

Dick acknowledges Slade's words with a nod, keeping quiet as he crosses the room. The bed dips just a bit as he joins them on it, and that's enough to make Jason shift just a little, murmuring something unintelligible and muffled into Slade's collarbone. Dick lowers himself as Slade makes a low, soothing sound deep in his chest, the arm at his back pulling him just a fraction closer. Slade maintains that gentle rumble until Jason settles again, breathing evening back out to the slow, deep patterns Dick's familiar with.

Then Slade looks to him, calm and relaxed, not even a hint of warning in his expression as Dick takes the spot at Jason's back. It's almost familiar, now. When they have actually slept, it's been like this. Jason between them, Slade more than large enough to encircle Jason with just that one heavy arm, and Dick pressed to his back with his nose buried near Jason's neck to soak in all the scent he can. His instincts aren't demanding that now, though.

Now, he can rest his head on his own arm and meet Slade's gaze over Jason's bent head, studying him without the fog of heat or lust in the way for maybe the first time.

"Started fading this morning," Slade murmurs, arm pulling back enough to just rest on Jason's side instead, thumb taking up a slow, circular pattern near one hip. "He crashed a couple hours ago."

Dick hums softly. "He'll be down a few more. Through the night, more than likely. I'll send word to Talia in the morning." He looks back up. "Unless you want to leave now?"

Slade's gaze flicks down, for just a moment. His hand stills, then begins to stroke again as he speaks. "May as well stay."

It sounds dismissive, but Dick's noticed that's a pattern. When it comes to anything outside of sex, Slade acts as if he doesn't care. His tones range from dismissive to uninterested depending on the words, and if Dick had any less practice reading powerful alphas that don't want to be read, maybe he'd have fallen for it. However, he learned to judge people by their actions a long time ago, and Slade's actions speak much louder than what he actually chooses to say.

Dick puts a lot more stock in how carefully Slade treats Jason outside of sex than the posturing brusqueness of his words. The gentle touch, low voice, closeness without letting hands stray to any of the tempting, sensitive areas of an in-heat omega. It's hard, to set aside desire and take the time to care like that. Make sure they wash, eat, drink, all with them half-conscious at best… It takes a good alpha.

Or a knowledgeable one, with the control to leash the more primitive urges.

The corner of Slade's mouth curls up slightly, presumably amused by whatever he sees in Dick's expression. He doesn't say anything, though, just holds his gaze with a lazy sort of attention. The ragged scar over his right eye is crinkled with his eyes half-lidded like they are, and draws attention away from the other myriad, smaller nicks of scars on his face and neck. There's a very old looking, very faint mating mark, too, that Dick only finds himself just noticing now, at the junction of throat and shoulder at his right side.

Must be an interesting story. How does a man as lethal as Slade become a gladiator? How does a mate fit into that story? Gladiators don't usually have permanent partners, as far as Dick understands the trade.

"If you're going to stare at it, boy," Slade breaks in, "you might as well just ask."

Well… alright.

"You had a mate?"

Slade shifts his head just enough to be a nod. "When I was young. Three children, too. Still alive, far as I know."

"You're not sure?" Dick can't imagine not knowing whether his loved ones were safe or not. He'd drive himself insane. "Haven't you looked for them?"

Slade looks at him for a moment, still with that little quirk of amusement to his lips. Then, "Judging by the scar she left me when she took them, I wasn't welcome." His hand lifts from Jason's waist just long enough to tap the scar over his eye. Dick sucks in a sharp breath, and Slade snorts and settles back down. "She'll have raised them right; I'm not worried. If they decide they want to know me, I'm easy to find."

Dick doesn't know that much about scars, admittedly, but he doesn't have to know that much to know that scar was the result of something truly savage. What could provoke that kind of reaction from a mate? It's probably not his business, except…

"What happened?"

Slade is quiet for a few seconds, studying him, as far as Dick can tell. "Does it matter?"

He doesn't actually have a ready-made excuse for why it should, but Slade seems to take his tongue-tied pause as amusing, because he only chuckles. His voice is oddly careless when he says, "My son was hurt. I made enemies, and I wasn't there to protect my family when it mattered. She was well within her rights."

Dick absorbs that slowly, adding it to his picture. "Ah. Would you look for them, if you were free?"

"If I wanted to be free, I could be. This suits me for now."

"How long will it?"

The subtle sharpening of Slade's eyes asks the question without him voicing it. "Until I get tired of it, or my 'mistress' oversteps." An eyebrow lifts, only barely enough for him to notice. "Or there's a more interesting opportunity."

He should ask Jason first. Really, he should. But if pattern holds, Jason will sleep through most if not all of the evening and night, and be groggy even when he does wake. He won't have the focus to concentrate on something until at least tomorrow evening, not deeply, anyway. Well, maybe Slade won't even agree. Or if he does, and Jason doesn't like it, maybe he can adjust his plans to something else.

He's pretty sure Jason will agree with his idea, though, whatever it might lead to.

Dick bites back the urge to take a deep breath, or lick his lips, or do anything to betray the hint of nerves fluttering in his chest. "I'm in need of a personal guard, as it happens. Someone skilled. Perceptive. If that's something you find 'interesting.'"

The smirk that curves Slade's mouth has just enough wicked intent in it to make Dick have to fight urges all over again. Very different ones, this time. "A 'guard,' hm? Is that all?"

No. But, "To anyone that feels the need to ask."

"Mm. And if I grow bored, protecting you?"

"You'd be a free man. Free to leave, if you chose to." Now he takes a breath, unable to stop himself this time as he offers the last piece of incentive. Or, it might be the one thing that will make sure Slade doesn't take the offer, and if that's the case it would probably be for the best anyway. "And if you happened to be involved with any children you might have, well, you'd be free to choose to do that too."

For a moment, Dick thinks that might be the thing that makes Slade refuse. His smirk falls, his expression is utterly unreadable. The moment stretches, long enough Dick has to draw on every bit of steel composure he's learned over his life. And then suddenly it's done. Suddenly Slade's gaze is flicking down to the top of Jason's head, so deeply asleep their voices haven't even begun to rouse him. His eyes soften, though it's so minute that Dick thinks perhaps only someone raised by Bruce would have been able to see it.

It's gone by the time he looks up again, anyway.

"Usually I'm on the killing side, not the defensive one." Slade makes a considering noise, deep in his throat, then gives a small smile. It's got just enough challenge in it to make Dick want to shiver. "Why not? A change could be interesting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)


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